


Hollow

by JaneAire



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Disabled Character, Drinking, Gladio is gonna make some really ableist jokes so buckle down, Gladnis, Heavy Swearing, Ignis is fucking tired and Gladio is a selfish asshole, M/M, Set during comrades, Writing Sprint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-04 14:07:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12772671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaneAire/pseuds/JaneAire
Summary: A chance meeting in Lestallum serves as a good reminder that they aren't who they were. After all, does Ignis really exist when Noctis doesn't?Gladnis angst





	Hollow

“I must admit, I didn't expect to see you here.”  
_That's a fair assumption, considering the whole world's gone to shit._

He wasn't exactly sure what Ignis meant by it, whether he assumed Gladio would be bleeding out in a ditch somewhere or if he'd be somewhere else dragging someone else along just to abandon. 

Amazing, the world had gone to shit, but when the power got returned to the cell towers, the pages and pages of Ignis’ texts had poured into his phone like a steady storm of razor sharp accusations, every word barbed pointedly. Ignis, ever eloquent, knew exactly how to fuck him up. 

Gladio didn't turn around to face him--the air in his hotel room was stagnant, but he could still smell the overwhelming scent of ivory soap and that expensive, old man aftershave he'd been so fond of. He'd run out soon enough. Instead, he pours out an extra drink. 

“To be fair, you can't _see_ anything.” 

Ignis snorted mirthlessly, slamming the door shut behind him with the heel of his once-fine leather boots, now dusted across the tops and caked with mud across the soles. Some of it shook loose as he walked, streaking across the carpet. Gladio was positive he did it on purpose. 

Ignis, to his surprise, was walking with no trouble, making his way to the bed expertly with little need for his cane, falling gracelessly against the mattress, leaning back on his elbows. It was a pretty picture, dangerous, and Gladio made sure to remind himself that everything Ignis did was calculated, observing and acting even without his sight to guide him. 

Gladio was momentarily glad Ignis couldn't see him, embarrassingly frozen with the drinks in his hand, openly staring. 

He'd missed him. 

“Where's your shadow?” Gladio grunted, forcing himself to move forward and hand Ignis the drink, and slapping himself against the wall to avoid being too close. 

Ignis seemed to consider a moment, glaring down into his glass as if the answer was floating around among the ice, before downing the amber liquid quickly, stunning Gladio into another petrified state. 

“Prompto and I decided to go our separate ways.” 

Oh. Well then. 

“That so?” 

He hummed in affirmation. “He--well, we decided it was best in order to, well--” 

“Forget,” Gladio supplied. 

“ _No,_ ” Ignis grunted with force, setting his empty glass down on the nightstand with a harsh clink, glaring at his lap. “We were just at different stages in our grieving, if that's the appropriate word for our situation.” 

The _our_ was barbed, poison painted, and the awful part about it was that Gladio wasn't even sure he was included in it. 

“You come to your senses, then?” 

Ignis smirked ruefully, rising from the bed. Shit, he was leaving. 

“I'm afraid not. Prompto, he's...he's dealing best he can. I'm not sure he knows what to believe.” 

Gladio set his glass down, daring to cross the room to stand in front of Ignis, who, to his credit, sensed the whole damn thing. He'd improved a lot since Gladio had been away, then. It was a little off putting, as if Ignis had developed a sixth sense. 

It was hard, not to reach across to place his hands on Ignis’ shoulders, cup his chin, place a hand on the nape of his neck and draw him close to his chest like he'd done so many fucking times that he'd lost count. He wondered if Ignis felt as if Gladio were a stranger. 

He was glad Ignis couldn't see how misty his eyes were, how much this fucking hurt. 

“Iggy, do me a favor and just hear me out,” Gladio murmured, his voice embarrassingly hoarse as his eyes traced the patterned trail where the jagged lines of his scar met the smooth plains of his skin. Not fair, none of this was fucking fair, and it was all for nothing. “I'm gonna join up with the hunters, yeah? Keep those little fuckers out of the city, make sure Iris is okay. Just--fuck, Ignis, I want you to _stay,_ ”

Ignis, to his credit, was unaffected, and Gladio understood he was too far gone in his head to ever want anything to do with Gladio. 

It was so fucking unfair. Every good word Gladiolus had ever uttered about Regis, every fucking piece of praise, he wished he could shove back into his mouth and rip to shreds. He was a fucking coward. 

Forget fucking Noctis for a second, forget the fucking world. How was it ever fair to ask Ignis to give all of himself to that boy, knowing that when Noctis was gone, there'd be no more Ignis left? 

It doesn't matter that the early autumn had faded from Ignis’ eyes, Gladio could recognize the hollowness behind them miles away. He was empty. He wasn't even Ignis anymore, not when Noctis was gone. 

“What can I do,” he begged, caving, reaching out to cup Ignis’ hollow cheeks with his squared hands. “To convince you to stay?”

It wouldn't make any difference if Gladio told him Ignis was the only thing worth living for, didn't matter if it was true. It wouldn't make a difference if Gladio told him he loved him, that Gladio would never stop fucking fighting that war outside the city if it made the world a better place for them. The stone cold truth? Ignis didn't give two shits about Gladio, and Gladio knew it. And Gladio loved him anyway. 

The whole thing was fucked up, and none of it mattered, because the world would've gone to shit whether Gladio loved him or not, whether Ignis had even ever met Noct. 

He waited on Ignis to come back at him, throw the words around about how ironic it was that _now_ Gladio wanted him, _now_ Gladio wanted to stay, when it was fucking easier now that Ignis and Prompto weren't falling apart on the floor as the world around them turned to shit because Noctis decided to turn to nothingness one day while they'd stood by. 

But he didn't. 

Gladio didn't even get the satisfaction of feeling his skin as Ignis pried Gladio's hands off him with his own gloved hands. There was no emotion on Ignis’ face, and Gladio wondered if there's ever going to be something that breaks that hollowness in him, fills him up in a way that makes Ignis less broken. Ignis didn't even look at him, just fixed the cuffs of his sleeves and turns his head to the door, like he's suddenly remembered he's late for an appointment. 

“I'm going to find him, Gladiolus. You can come, or you can stay, but I'm going to find him out there.” 

In the end, Ignis closed the door once more with his boot, the mud crumbling across the carpet in the hall. The sound of the slam reverberated around in Gladio's chest, and, yeah, it turned out he's a little fucking hollow too.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a writing sprint, pardon all errors. I haven't actually made it very far in comrades, but the prompt credit goes to @demynom. As always, comments and kudos are appreciated. Have a great day ♡


End file.
